Communion
by CallieMoon
Summary: One-shot. At the very end of end stage heart failure, Jim Kirk enjoys one more day with the people who mean the most to him. His t'hy'la never leaves his side. K/S.


_**Afternoon**_

"I never imagined it would be like this," sighed McCoy, sipping his mint julep.

Jim absently played with his straw, and the ice clinked softly against the glass. Of course, he had been advised against alcoholic beverages, but on this day, even McCoy wasn't about to tell him off. "Be like what, Bones?" he asked.

McCoy laughed quietly. "You, an old man, sitting on your back porch and sipping a cocktail."

Jim chuckled. "I never thought I'd get here myself."

They gazed out at the trees at the edge of the yard. The flies haunted the golden light beneath the leaves, murmuring in the still air.

"So," McCoy hummed. "How are you taking to retirement?"

"You know I'm not retired, Bones," Jim laughed. "I'm only taking the day off." McCoy opened his mouth to speak, and instead lifted his cocktail to his lips and took another sip. Jim glanced away. "I suppose it's effective retirement," he conceded.

"That's what I meant."

Jim traced his finger along the rim of his glass, and it hummed under his touch. "I never thought I'd admit it to you, let alone to myself," he mused, "but I always dreamed of the three of us well into our Emeritus years, talking about our adventures, sitting together just like this."

McCoy smiled slightly, shaking his head. "And here we are." His eye fell on the steaming teacup on the little wooden coffee table. "Speaking of which, where the hell is Spock?"

Jim looked at his watch. "He said he'd be home by three o'clock. It's already three."

"Incorrect, ashayam. It has only been two hours, 59 minutes, and 53 seconds since noon."

Jim smiled, turning towards the voice. Spock reached forward to brush together their fingertips.

Dragging over a chair for Spock, McCoy commented affectionately, "If Christopher Pike were seeing this, he'd have a—" He caught himself. "—a field day."

Jim and Spock broke apart, and Spock settled into the cushioned seat. McCoy passed him the cup of tea, and sitting down on Jim's other side, McCoy took a sip of his own drink. "How was the meeting, Spock?"

Spock lifted the tea to his lips. "Tolerable, I suppose." He sipped, and his eyebrow raised. "Doctor, the tea is…" He paused. "…palatable."

McCoy smiled, though his blue eyes never left Spock's. "The medical department got an herbal shipment from Vulcan, so I may or may not have pinched a bag for you this morning."

"I appreciate your intent, but it truly was not necessary," Spock replied quietly. They carefully met eyes across the table, then looked away.

They sat silently for several minutes, nursing their drinks and listening to the warm hum of distant bees.

"You were talking about your proposal, Bones," Jim said. "How did it go?"

McCoy sipped at his cocktail. "It went very well. I'll be starting my research tomorrow evening. At least, that's the plan."

Jim fingered the stem of the glass. "Well, don't let me stop you."

Spock glanced at McCoy. Then, he picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip.

After a moment, McCoy asked, "What about you, Spock? You worked with the trainees this afternoon, didn't you?"

The Vulcan nodded. "Yes. Today was the final briefing. I had not planned to attend today, but Jim had encouraged me to do so." Jim's hand found Spock's on the armrest, and he squeezed it gently. "It went very smoothly," Spock continued, his voice minutely softer. "In my opinion, they are extremely competent and well-equipped to take command."

"Thanks to your wisdom and expertise, of course," replied Jim. Squeezing Spock's hand one more time, he loosed his hand from Spock's grip and reached for his cocktail.

McCoy leaned back, and the chair creaked. "I sure hope the trainees are well prepared," he commented. "I don't need to mention the last 'trainee' mission."

Jim shook his head. "No, you really don't." He suddenly snickered around his drink. "Oh my God."

"What?" asked McCoy.

"Remember the one time when Sulu came onto the bridge shirtless, waving around that sword of his?"

McCoy immediately convulsed with laughter, and the cocktail sloshed over the sides. Reaching over, Spock carefully extracted the glass from McCoy's hands, a smile playing on his lips.

Between gasps, McCoy managed, "Or that time we went to that planet with that crazy spirit fellow who trapped us in Napoleonic France."

"That wasn't funny, Bones, he nearly got Spock killed!" protested Jim with a wide grin. "And me."

Regaining his breath, McCoy smiled. "It's hard to believe we can laugh at it now. And that we're still alive to laugh."

"' _Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit_ ,'" said Spock.

"Now what the hell does that Vulcan proverb mean?"

"Latin, actually," Spock replied. "However, to those with no appreciation of culture, the difference is insignificant."

Raising his cocktail, Jim supplied, "' _Perhaps someday, it will be pleasant to remember even this_.'"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Don't try to tell me that he didn't translate that for you through your mind bond."

Spock's lips quirked upwards, and Jim threw the doctor a cheery smile before returning to his cocktail.

The drink never reached his lips. The chair gasped, and the ice clanked against the glass. In a second, Spock had leapt out of his seat and bolted to Jim's side, one arm supporting his back and the other gripping Jim's arm. McCoy jumped up at the same moment, his drink splashing onto his hands. Setting the glass down, McCoy rushed to Jim's side.

His own cocktail running down the sides of the glass, Jim breathed shakily, "Oh my God."

The liquid trickled over his fingers. McCoy yanked the glass from his hands and set it back down on the table. His hand still on Jim's back, Spock wiped Jim's hand with his own sleeve and reached over to prize Jim's fingers from their clutch around the armrest.

"Are you all right?" they both inquired at once, the doctor's voice panicked and high-pitched, the Vulcan's low and shaken. The two exchanged a glance.

Jim laughed unsteadily. "Yes, and yes," he chuckled, nodding first at McCoy and then at Spock. For a moment, he closed his eyes, leaning into Spock's touch. Then, he pulled himself upright and managed a reassuring smile towards McCoy.

"I'm fine, Bones. You don't have to hover over me." He looked up at Spock. "You too, Spock. I'm okay."

Spock and McCoy exchanged another glance. His shoulders twitching in a half-hearted shrug, McCoy slowly sat down, wiped his glass, and took a long, tense sip of his cocktail. Spock followed suit, retreating into his chair.

Jim lowered his eyes. He reached forward, took a sip of his drink, and set it carefully down again.

"That was another bout of angina, wasn't it, Bones?"

McCoy pursed his lips. "Jim, tell me what happened."

Jim shook his head slowly. "God, I don't know. My heart just seized up and I couldn't move or breathe. All I could hear with the blood pounding in my ears—and then it all passed."

He looked up at McCoy. He saw the answer in his face.

"It was a very short bout, though," McCoy said finally. "I don't think it was very serious."

Jim smiled slightly. "I'm not scared."

His smile trembled a little, like a child's careful cursive.

* * *

 _ **Evening**_

"Chekov's coming at 5:30, isn't he?" asked McCoy.

"Captain Chekov," corrected Jim, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He just got promoted, or so I've been hearing around Starfleet."

"I heard the admirals discussing this promotion sixteen days ago," affirmed Spock. "His captaincy ceremony is in three days."

The three held each other's gazes. The air hummed with the rumor of bees.

"You two will be there, though, won't you?" asked Jim.

"Of course, Jim," replied Spock.

"We will."

McCoy broke eye contact and took a quick sip of his cocktail. "Chekov will be receiving his command pin at the ceremony, won't he?"

"Command pin," mused Jim. "It's a bit strange, seeing all the officers strutting around wearing those shiny silver pins."

"They were distributed to the trainees today," remarked Spock. "They will be the first to wear the pins aboard a Starfleet vessel."

"I kind of miss seeing the Starfleet patches," Jim admitted.

Sipping his cocktail, McCoy hummed his agreement. "God, so much has changed since our hey-day." He thought. "I do like the pins, though. They look very clean and efficient."

"Clean, perhaps, but efficient, negative," countered Spock, sipping his tea. "Firstly, consider the weight of the pin on the uniform."

"I was only talking about the aesthetics," grumbled McCoy.

"Secondly, if the backings should detach during combat, the position of the pin leads to a significant probability of the needles piercing the highly sensitive area near the—"

"SPOCK!" yelled McCoy and Jim.

"I see my point has been taken," remarked Spock coolly, sipping his tea while his two friends broke into hysterics around him.

At that moment, a loud chime sounded. Regaining his breath, McCoy glanced up.

"Must be Captain Chekov," he managed between giggles.

Drawing in a breath, he pushed himself up. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Jim braced himself on the armrest, preparing to get up.

"Oh no, you don't," McCoy reprimanded, pushing him back down. "Stay here, I'm getting it."

He briefly paused, eyes on Jim. When Jim didn't object, his eyebrows settled into a frown. Straightening his jacket, he went down the porch steps onto the lawn, footsteps softly crunching in the fresh grass, and he disappeared around the corner of the house.

Jim sipped at his cocktail. The ice clinked softly against the side of Jim's glass, and a sun-warmed breeze blew, sweet with the suggestion of far-off flowers. A few stray strands of hair floated up, briefly catching the sunlight. As the breeze faded, they settled back down, blown across his forehead.

"Your hair is in your eyes," reproved Spock, setting aside his tea. He reached forward and brushed the hair away, tucking the stray strands behind Jim's ears. Jim smiled his thanks, and nodding, Spock retreated back to his chair.

From the front of the house, delighted exclamations and laughter cropped up. The two turned towards the noise.

"Chekov is just as cheerful as ever," remarked Jim fondly, and Spock detected a note of relief in his voice. Then, Jim's eyes fell on the cup of tea on the table. "Spock?" he ventured.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Bones put an herbal sedative in your tea, didn't he?"

He ducked his head. "I had hoped that you wouldn't notice."

Jim caught his eyes. "Are you doing okay?"

"I am fine, Jim."

"If you can't do this, if you need to step inside awhile or spend some time at the Academy—"

"Ashayam," said Spock quietly. The chatter from the front porch punctuated his pause. "You underwent angina several minutes ago. I am forced to take into account the possibility of something happening today that requires us to—if you begin experiencing too much pain—"

Jim raised his hand. "No, Spock. The three of us are going to have this evening, and tomorrow morning…" He took a deep breath. "Tomorrow morning, the three of us will go to the hospital and I'll lay down and we'll get that needle in my arm, and it'll all be over. I'm going to stick to the plan no matter what."

Spock looked into Jim's hazel eyes. He nodded. "And we shall be by your side," he affirmed.

At that moment, decked out in his red command uniform, Pavel Chekov popped around the corner of the house. "Captain!" Chekov barreled towards the captain and muffled him in a tight hug.

Jim wrapped his arms around him warmly. "So, Captain Chekov, huh?"

He pulled back, grinning. "Oh, not yet, sir."

Laughing, the two saluted one another, and Jim carefully settled back into his chair. Chekov turned and nodded respectfully at Spock. "It's good to see you, Ambassador."

He mirrored the gesture. "The sentiment is returned." He looked over Chekov's uniform. "It is 82.3 degrees outside. You are in full command attire," he observed.

Chekov grinned sheepishly. "Couldn't resist," he said.

Jim glanced back. "Where did Bones go?" he inquired.

The patio door slid open. McCoy strode towards the group with a tray of crackers and cheese.

"At your service, sir," he drawled, placing the tray on the table with exaggerated care.

"Thanks, Bones," said Jim.

McCoy dragged an extra chair from the side of the porch. "Here, sit down, kid."

He shifted on his feet. "No, no, I'm fine. I, ah, I'm planning to—" He faltered and averted his eyes. "I need to be leaving in a few minutes."

Jim smiled. "It's all right. Thank you for coming, Chekov."

Chekov nodded, and already, they could see something deep in his eyes struggling to get out. And for a moment, despite the whispering of grey at the man's temples, he seemed exactly the navigator he was during the five-year mission, fidgeting, laughing nervously, brimming with youth.

He continued, "I have to go to a briefing session at Starfleet. But before I go, there's something I wanted to ask you, sir."

"What can I do for you, Captain?" asked Jim, smiling.

They did not miss the way Chekov's face wavered at the easy warmth of his former captain's voice, wavered with the wavering hum of bees.

Chekov took a small box out of his pocket and opened it. Inside was a gleaming silver Starfleet pin.

"My captaincy ceremony isn't for a few more days, but I managed to convince them to give this to me early, Captain," he explained. "I was hoping you could, you know…"

Jim laughed softly. "I'd be honored," he said.

Chekov knelt before Jim's chair, and Jim started to rise. McCoy held him back. "Oh, no, you don't," he said.

Jim gave McCoy a meaningful look. "Bones, I'm not that fragile," he said, eyeing Chekov's expression. Still, he remained seated as he took the pin out of its box and turned it over in his hands a few times. Spock and Bones went to stand behind him, observing. "It's quite smart, isn't it?" Jim said, removing the backings from the pins. He glanced back at his two friends. "Sharp."

McCoy snickered, but Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

"I believe that was my point, Jim," Spock replied.

A loud chime sounded. The moment they saw Jim leaning forward to get out of the chair, Spock and McCoy met eyes. Spock nodded and went around the corner of the house to see who it was, and Jim settled back into his chair.

He returned shortly with Nyota Uhura, whose long white dress rippled with her bold stride.

"Oh, Captain," she said affectionately, leaning down to hug him. She was holding it back much better than Chekov, her graceful features refusing to suggest anything but joy.

"It's good to see you, Nyota," Jim acknowledged warmly.

"Nyota, you are a ray of light in this wretched universe," declared McCoy, embracing her.

"You're quite the Georgia rose yourself, Leonard," Uhura replied.

"You flatter me."

"And how are you, Mr. Spock?"

She spoke the words casually, but when she came to face him, the tenderness in her eyes took on the softness of sorrow.

He dipped his head. "I am well, thank you."

For a moment, though, as she held his gaze, he let the deep sorrow surface in his eyes in answer.

Uhura glanced down at Chekov, who still knelt at Jim's feet. "Now what have you done wrong this time, Pavel?"

Jim laughed. "Made me feel like an old man, if anything." He lifted up the command pin for her to see. "I'm giving him his command pin."

Uhura nodded, drawing in a breath. "Oh," she said. "That's really lovely." She broke into a smile. "Why don't we make this a little more ceremonial?"

In her clear, full voice, lent richness by age, she sang the jaunty opening bars of the Starfleet Academy school song. Jim and Chekov both groaned.

"It was looped 233 times at my graduation," said Chekov, shaking his head slowly. "Never, ever, sing that again."

Uhura grinned. "Why not? I think it's a lovely melody."

Jim laughed. "Don't you dare."

Amidst protests from Jim and Chekov, she cheerfully sang the next few lines of their old school song.

"Well, if that's how it's going to be, I'm turning around."

They all turned. Hikaru Sulu strode towards them, grinning. Chekov sprang to his feet.

"Hikaru!" they all exclaimed as hugs were exchanged all around.

"He told me he was on his way, so I left the gate open for him," said Uhura.

Spock said, "I did not expect that we would see you. I was under the impression that you were en route to a conference on Andoria."

"Well, so was I," Sulu said, shrugging off his black travel jacket, "until I learned something very useful."

McCoy said, "Do we want to know?"

"If you tell enough interesting stories about the most famous starship in the galaxy, you may be able to distract the transport shuttle pilot enough to rechart the shuttle's course when he's not looking."

"Hikaru!" exclaimed Uhura as they all burst into laughter.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm very impressed, and I appreciate it a lot," said Jim, laughing, "but you really didn't have to go to the trouble."

"Believe me, we've been through much worse for you, Captain," said Sulu. With his calm, unruffled deliberateness, he never seemed more the capable helmsman than now.

"Well, Hikaru, we were just talking about some 'interesting stories' from the Enterprise ourselves," said McCoy. "Would you happen to remember running through the corridors shirtless and waving a sword in everyone's faces?"

He grinned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, you might want to go through the security footage archives before you say that," said a new voice.

Montgomery Scott sauntered up to the group, setting a bottle of golden scotch down on the table. As everyone cried out greetings, he went around embracing all of his old friends.

"God, it's good to see everyone together again," he remarked, going in to embrace McCoy. "There's no way I would have gotten rid of all this scotch otherwise."

"Oh, I'm sure you would have found a way," replied McCoy, clapping him on the back. "And I, for one, would have helped you."

Jim, taking in the engineer's smart grey blazer, said, "Scotty, don't tell me you're playing hooky on some important function, too."

"Would'ya believe it? I got out of the Engineering faculty dinner," he said. His smile turned tender. "I told them I have a family reunion to attend."

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "Perfectly logical," he said, and it won a laugh from the group.

"I'll drink to that," said Uhura, pouring glasses for everyone. When each of them had one in hand, she raised her own glass. "To family."

"To family," they all chorused as they brought the sparkling gold liquid to their lips.

Jim took only a small sip. "Now, we have one order of business to attend to," said Jim, setting aside his drink. "As you've undoubtably heard, our very own Pavel Chekov is soon going to be a captain."

Everyone murmured affirmation.

"I woke up at 4 AM to book my tickets for the captaincy ceremony," replied Sulu. "There's no way I'm missing that."

He reached over to ruffle Chekov's hair, and the middle-aged Russian grunted in protest, running his fingers through his thinning hair to smooth it out again. Jim laughed.

"Well," said Jim, "lucky for you, you'll get to watch the captaincy ceremony twice." He held the command pin up to the light. "I was fortunate enough to be given the honors." He nodded at the soon-to-be captain. "Chekov."

The man immediately set aside his drink and knelt at Jim's feet. The whole group gathered closely to watch. Spock, of course, stayed put at Jim's side.

Chekov bowed his head, and the fringe of his hair fell in his face. There was the genesis of a bald spot at the top of the man's head, a jarring contrast with the man's youthful, deferent demeanor.

"One moment," said Scotty, unzipping his sling bag. "I was supposed to play the bagpipes at the Engineering dinner. Good thing I didn't have a chance to bring them back home before heading here."

"But Scotty, what are they going to do without your bagpipes at the Engineering dinner?" asked Jim, grinning.

"Oh, they're better off without them," he said.

He took out his instrument, nestled it in the crook of his arm, and played the triumphant first few notes of the Federation anthem. Uhura joined in, the fullness of her voice rising with the shrill glory of the bagpipes in the song's joyous chorus.

Jim's liquid hazel eyes sharpened with wetness. Still, his voice and his touch were sure as he rested a hand on Chekov's shoulder and said, "Pavel Andreievich Chekov, you have consistently served the Federation with your loyalty, ingenuity, and spirit. In you, the Federation will find a most capable defender of its ideals of peace and equality."

He fastened the pin onto the man's uniform.

"I hereby confer upon you the rank of Captain."

He gazed down at Chekov, but the man was unable to meet his eyes. Spock, too, had to glance away. McCoy quietly handed Spock his cup of tea.

Scotty and Uhura completed their rendition of the Federation anthem on a bright, ringing note, and all the attendees applauded. Chekov finally rose, offering Jim a weak smile. "Thank you, sir."

His brown eyes were glossed with tears.

Jim frowned. "Didn't you say you have a briefing session to get to?" he asked gently.

"Well…yes, sir."

"I don't want to keep you."

Chekov bit his lip and nodded. "I think I'd better go."

Each member of the group said their goodbyes to him, along with promises that they would see each other again soon at the captaincy ceremony. When all of that was finished, Chekov came to stand before Jim again. He swallowed. Then, he bent down to embrace Jim one more time. Jim felt the outline of Chekov's command pin pressing against his chest.

"Warp speed, Pavel," he said.

" _Proschai_!" he whispered.

Then Chekov disappeared around the corner of the house, his steps a little too brisk. Jim sighed, taking a sip of his drink. "Look after him," he said, his eyes not leaving the spot where his navigator had vanished.

"We will," said Sulu with the same assured serenity that they had always known from him.

"I'll get some more chairs," said McCoy briskly. "Take some of the snacks. If they prevent you from getting completely drunk, I'll have done my duty as a doctor."

McCoy went inside and the group began to talk and laugh among themselves. Jim felt Spock's arm brush against his as the Vulcan came to stand infinitesimally closer to his chair, and the broken illusion of the Enterprise was complete.

* * *

 _ **Night**_

McCoy was dragging one of the now-unoccupied chairs back inside.

"No," said Jim, "leave them."

McCoy nodded and put it right back where it was. He returned to his own wicker chair at Jim's side and left the emptiness to harden into the other four.

Almost all the glasses were empty on the table, save for remnants of scotch like golden dregs of the near-vanished afternoon. McCoy reached over and finished his own drink.

"What do you say we lie down on the grass?" said Jim. "Just like we did as kids?"

He squinted into the setting sun. "That sounds like a fine idea, Jim," he said, leaning back. "Let's wait for the sun to go down a little more so we don't go blind."

"Sunset," murmured Jim, looking into the darkness steadily bruising the sky purple. "It's always been my favorite time of day. Are either of you familiar with 'The Little Prince'?"

"An old Terran novel," Spock replied, "written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, first published in 1943."

"I read it once as a kid," said McCoy. "I don't think I really understood it at that age, though."

"It's about an alien boy," said Jim. Ever since the old gang had left, his voice had been subdued, and his eyes difficult to reach. "He loved the sunset. He lived on a very small planet. And all he needed to do was move his chair a little, and he'd be able to watch the day end and the twilight falling all over again."

"Spock," said McCoy, "please don't say anything about the impossibility of a humanoid evolving on such a small planet."

"Due to all my years spent in your company, Doctor, the illogic is far less than I have grown accustomed to tolerating," Spock replied.

The exchange didn't even earn a laugh from Jim. McCoy and Spock looked at each other, each silently asking the other for forgiveness.

"Say time were like that, too," said Jim. "We just have to move far enough forward and we'll find ourselves right where we were." He looked at McCoy and Spock with a smile. "Wouldn't that be something? We wake up tomorrow and the three of us are at the campfire at Yosemite again? Wake up the next day, and we're on the way to some godforsaken planet—me, the two of you, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov? All of us, on the Enterprise together again?"

The shadows of the four empty chairs lengthened at their feet.

"We're still there, Jim," said McCoy softly. "We have to remember that time isn't a straight line. We've been back and forth more than I care to remember. Some of those people we've met—they've been dead for hundreds, even thousands of years now. But they're still there, aren't they? They aren't gone at all, they're still out there in time. They'll always exist, somewhere."

"Move your chair a little, and the sunset never happened," replied Jim quietly. His hands clenched on the armrests.

Spock's gaze touched his. "Let's go lie in the grass," he suggested.

Jim's eyes danced like dust in sunlight.

Jim tugged off his shoes and braced his hands against the armrests to stand. Spock placed a hand on his back, but Jim betrayed no sign of exertion as he rose to his feet and walked into the wide lawn with Spock and McCoy, who remained close at Jim's other side.

By the time they settled in the grass, his breath was coming noticeably short.

They stretched out on their backs, gazing into the deepening sky. Jim exhaled deeply, then drew a careful breath in. He twined his fingers around the blades of grass, tugging at them, feeling the tension in their soft little bodies give at the mere beginnings of force. He rubbed the blades between his fingers. The sun slipped below the horizon. As the murmur of the bees dissolved into the evensong of crickets, several of the brightest stars appeared, lonely without their fellows, unfinished constellations.

"I want to talk about it," Jim said finally.

"Then by all means, talk about it, Jim," said McCoy. "Please."

"Bones, you're a doctor. You must have thought about this a lot. Do you think the soul goes somewhere?" he asked softly.

"I have thought about it a lot," McCoy replied. "And I'm afraid I still don't know, Jim." He turned his head slightly towards Spock. "I've never been through it myself."

They both waited expectantly.

"I have no answers," Spock said finally.

Jim let the grass fall from his fingertips again.

"As you know," Spock offered, "the soul can be transmitted from being to being."

"Oh, I know that too well," put in McCoy.

"It is highly possible that, in the same way, the soul occupies a new vessel and assumes the form of energy or primordial matter."

"Yes, Spock, but what is it like?" pushed Jim. "What does it feel like?"

"I have only experienced corporeal death. I do not know what happens when the soul, too, is released." He paused. "I apologize, t'hy'la."

"I've heard you call each other that a lot," observed McCoy. "I never really figured out what it means, but I sure am glad you eventually became that to each other."

"Doctor," said Spock, "'t'hy'la' means we always have been."

Jim turned his face toward's Spock's, smiling. "You forgot, 'and always shall be.'"

"I assumed that was already implied," replied Spock, his eyes an echo of the unknowable night.

The captain turned his gaze back up at the stars. The crickets sang their mysterious rhapsodies.

"It's been a good run," said Jim. "I couldn't have asked for two better friends by my side." He sighed. "I just can't imagine leaving you."

"It makes sense, you going first," mused McCoy. "You were always the one pushing the final frontier, leading the rest of us into the unknown. Things don't change, do they?"

"They do not," said Spock quietly.

McCoy let out a long breath. "By God, we've come a long way."

The crickets sang their mass.

Jim broke the silence. "So, Bones, any grand plans for your retirement?"

"Retirement?" echoed McCoy.

"All these years, you've been chasing after me and making sure I didn't do anything too foolish," said Jim. "Soon, you'll have more free time on your hands than you'll know what to do with. Do you have any exciting plans? Places to go, people to visit?" Jim Kirk's voice acquired the timber they had previously heard in enemy negotiations when the captain had played all his cards, but pretended he still had one up his sleeve: a veneer of confidence threatening to crack into a plea for reassurance.

"Jesus Christ, Jim, you're acting like I'm your widower, too," said McCoy. "I can fend for myself, sweetheart. My life doesn't revolve around you." In the silence, the crickets cried high mourning. McCoy let out a soft breath."Well, I'll probably continue my research with Starfleet. Oversee some of the medical trainees. Visit Joanna as much as I can. And then I'll just wait for my turn."

Jim turned his head to look at Spock but didn't dare ask him the same question. The sharp, elegant profile of Spock's face was as proud and as vulnerable as an old ocean ship.

The moon rose, round and expectant, and more and more stars arrived to crowd around it.

"It's ridiculous, but on Earth, people used to say that those who pass on are turned into stars," said Jim. "I think I'd like that."

"It's a beautiful idea, isn't it?" said McCoy.

"'And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,'" recited Jim. "When it's time and you don't know which way to go, you can just find my star and steer home."

McCoy's eyes silvered with starlight and tears.

"I'm sorry," Jim said. "You know I've always been sentimental."

McCoy grunted through the thickness in his throat. "You do know we're going to follow you, right?"

Jim turned to him sharply. "What?"

"Not right this second, not today, probably not even this year. But I'm afraid the three of us are stuck together for good." He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "Look, I don't know how, or why, but some souls are meant to be together. And if the three of us aren't, I don't know who is."

"Do you really think so, Bones?"

"Of course, Jim. No matter what era you end up in, no matter what crazy reality or alternate universe, I'll follow you, and I'll find you."

"As will I," said Spock.

They both turned to look at him. "Spock?"

Spock turned his head, pointing his angular face towards them like an old-fashioned clockhand coming home to the twelve.

"Taking into account an average lifespan and the population of the known universe alone, the probability that you will meet any given person within your lifetime is effectively incalculable," he explained. "If you factor in the significant possibility of intelligent life in the unexplored 75% of the universe, the probability is effectively zero." He met Jim's eyes. "How do you justify, then, that you and I came together at precisely the same time and place, aboard the same ship, beside one another? The only logical explanation I can offer is that you are my t'hy'la."

McCoy nodded to himself, and his eyes seemed crowded with stars. "I understand what that word means now."

Jim broke eye contact with his bondmate. He gazed up at the sky again. "I want to believe you, Spock."

"Then believe him," urged McCoy. His voice quavered freely now. "Believe both of us. What do you think belief is for?" He pointed up to one bright grouping of stars. "There. Cygnus, the swan constellation." They looked up at the great bird transfixed in stars, swooping downwards into the horizon with its great unmoving wings unfurled. "People see patterns and shapes in the stars all the time. Everyone knows there's no swan up there, but people aren't wrong if they say they see one, are they?" He let out a shaky breath. "We know very few things about the universe, Jim. But we can interpret the facts we've got however we want." He swallowed thickly. "And if I'm allowed to believe in a universe where we'll see each other again, I sure as hell am going to."

His final sentence cracked in two.

"Thank you, Bones," Jim said quietly.

"And Jim," he said. "If Spock and I actually agree on something, that's as good an assurance as a law of physics."

Jim let his shoulder touch McCoy's in comfortable solidarity, and he took Spock's hand into his own, and their knotted hands lay together the grass, stardust into dust, another constellation in ruins.

* * *

 _ **Postmidnight**_

"I'm going to head inside and get a few hours of shut-eye," said McCoy, rising to his feet. "Mind if I take the couch?"

Jim nodded. "Sure, Bones."

"Wake me up if you need anything."

McCoy's lighthouse eyes were bright and searching and wide-awake.

They heard the soft crunch of footsteps harden as McCoy reached the porch, and the swish of the glass door sliding open and closed.

Jim and Spock said nothing for a long time. Finally, Jim turned onto his side facing Spock. "Well, Spock, here we are."

Spock remained on his back, his hand in Jim's, staring into the sky. Lying flat, smoothed into the grass, his form seemed so small, like the sky would bleed into him and erase him. "Here we are," Spock repeated.

"What are you feeling?" asked Jim, in that low, sincere tone that always summoned an sweet ache to his side.

"I feel many things that I do not yet have the words for," confessed Spock.

"That's all right, Spock." He let out a breath. "Spock? Will you promise me you'll try?"

"Try to…?"

"Not right now, not to me. I mean after tonight." Jim propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over Spock, seeking his eyes. "You do know that if you ever need someone to talk to, McCoy will cross galaxies just to be there for you? Or even Uhura. Or anyone."

"It will not be the same, Jim," Spock said softly to the stars.

Jim's free hand clenched in the grass, and he felt a few more blades give. "But they love you, Spock. Don't you know that? There are so many people out there who love you. You will remember that for me, won't you?"

Spock's hand tightened around Jim's. "You have never allowed me to forget."

Jim rolled onto his back again, staring up at the sky, pulling their joined hands to his chest, holding Spock's hand tight. Their synchronized breathing bobbed along the tide of the crickets' song.

"We really are here," said Spock.

"Yes. Yes, we are."

A soft laugh from Jim interrupted the steady refrain of their breathing and the chirping of the crickets. Spock looked over at him.

"I always knew we'd be together somehow, you and I," said Jim. "I knew we'd always be together."

"I never doubted it," affirmed Spock.

"But did you ever think we'd make it this far?"

Spock finally turned his body towards Jim, towards whatever that expressive, waiting face would hold. Every wrinkle was one Spock knew, for he had witnessed the paving of each and every line by the quiet traffic of grief in his face, years and years of it.

He didn't expect the quiet ecstasy in Jim's eyes.

"You know, all these years, I've been so afraid of losing you," Jim said. There was something reverent, rapturous in his voice as he stroked Spock's hand with his thumb. "You know that my duty was to see each life as expendable, even those of my most senior officers, if it'd be for the greater good. But there was a point when I realized that I couldn't even begin to imagine losing you. It scared me, Spock. It scared me more than anything. I've spent all these years in silent fear of losing you, because I just couldn't see myself without you by my side."

Spock's face must have betrayed more than he had intended, for he noticed that perpetual traffic springing alive again in Jim's face, his eyes widening, his lips falling open in silent question.

"Jim," Spock began. "Though it is an indisputable fact that Vulcans live longer than humans—" He stopped. "It is illogical, ashayam."

"Go on," said Jim. "Please."

"We have been through innumerable dangers," he said. "At times, I was certain that we were going to die. However, I always envisioned that even if the ship were damaged beyond repair, even if I, Dr. McCoy, and the rest of the crew had been killed, you would still be standing alone on the bridge and, as you would phrase it, 'go down with your ship.'"

Jim's raw hazel eyes beckoned to his honesty. "What are you trying to say, Spock?"

"I always thought I would die before you."

And Jim Kirk was closing the distance between them, pulling him against him oh-so-tightly, his heartbeat fierce and stubborn and desperate and helpless and free against Spock's chest.

"Spock," he said into his shoulder.

"I thought I would spend the rest of my life with you," admitted Spock, his voice tight to breaking.

"You once told me that I almost made you believe in luck. You were right, Spock. I'm the luckiest man in the universe."

"Why?"

"Don't you see?" said Jim, his eyes brimming as he pulled Spock ever closer. "It's so selfish, Spock, and so unfair to you. But I was always so afraid I would lose you. Many times, I thought I had. But here I am. I made it. I do get to spend the rest of my life with you."

Jim felt wetness against his cheek as tears flowed down Spock's face, and Spock's body at last convulsed with sobs. And as Jim held Spock in his arms for the last time, he laughed and wept and wept and laughed and his aged, expressive, deathless face streamed with traffic down and down the old bright highways of joy and grief.

* * *

 _ **Morning**_

The front door clicked shut as the lock activated. Jim reached for the elegant whale's tail door knob and tested it for himself, his hand lingering on the golden curve after he had his confirmation.

Turning away and going briskly down the porch steps, Jim motioned for his two friends to follow him. There was no need: they were already at his side as they strode into the guilelessly blue summer morning, easing into formation, stars in alignment, a celestial swan plunging to earth.

* * *

Well, there you have it. The happy(ish) ending they deserved (screw Generations!) Please let me know what you thought!

And, as a tiny appendix to this story, here's a playlist of the songs that quietly dissolved into every word I wrote:  
tinyurl.c!o!m/hbx5w55 (sans exclamation marks)


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